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COMFORT. 



By K^ Hn.<f/^>w,;.^.. 




NEW YORK : 

ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY, 

38 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET. 






COPYRIGHT, 1877, BV 

Anson D. F. Randolph & CoMPiUnr. 



EDWARD O. JENKINS' PRINT, ROBERT RUTTER. BINDER. 

NEW YORK. 



To the toilers and sufferers, on the way to 
the " better country" may these words come 
with sojnething of help and healing. 



CONTENTS 



The Voicb in the Twilight, ..... y 

Papa's Little Girl, xx 

Life — a Problem, ,- 

" Thine Eves shall see the King in His Beauty,". 14 

The Heavenly Secret, .,.,., 17 

God's Best, ar 

Two Cities, ^g 

His Name, ^^ 

Asleep, ••••••..,,54 

In Vision, . . , -g 

Out of the Shadow, ....,.,40 

" Faultless," ._ 

•••••43 

In the Night, ....,,,,,47 

A Memory, ••••••,,,40 

Alone, ••.•••,,, 
Parting, ...,,,,,, .r. 

Sunset, ..,60 

At the River, .....,,,, ^4 

And There was Light, 6- 

De Propundis, 6g 

A Christmas Memory, ...,,,. 7-, 
RiiWARD, , . , _o 

(v) ' ' * 



vi CONTENTS. 

MISCELLANEOUS. 
Why, 83 

fiPITHALAMIUM, 8q 

Flower-Walls, 93 

My Picture, 95 

In the Name of Our God wk will set up our 

Banners, 97 

Hymn, , , 99 

Only for Owb, , . loi 

Maying, ••••••• » 104 



COMFORT. 



THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. 

I WAS sitting alone towards the twilight, 
With spirit troubled and vexed, 
With thoughts that were morbid and gloomy 
And faith that was sadly perplexed. 

Some homely work I was doing 
For the child of my love and care, 

Some stitches half wearily setting 
In the endless need of repair. 

But my thoughts were about the " building," 

The work some day to be tried ; 
And that only the gold and the silver, 

And the precious stones, should abide. 

And remembering my own poor efforts. 

The wretched work I had done. 
And, even when trying most truly, 

The me.igre success 1 had v/on : 

(7) 



8 THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT, 

* It is nothing but ' wood, hay and stubble/ " 

I said ; " it will all be burned — 
This useless fruit of the talents 

One day to be returned." 

" And I have so longed to serve Him, 
And sometimes I k7io'w I have tried ; 

But I'm sure when He sees such building, 
He will never let it abide." 

Just then, as I turned the garment. 
That no rent should be left behind, 

My eye caught an odd little bungle 
Of mending and patch- work combined. 

My heart grew suddenly tender. 
And something blinded my eyes. 

With one of those sweet intuitions 
That sometimes make us so wise. 

Dear child ! She wanted to help me, 
I knew 'twas the best she could do ; 

But oh, what a botch she had made it— 
The gray mismatching the blue ! 



THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. 9 

And yet — can you understand it ? — 

With a tender smile and a tear, 
And a half-compassionate yearning, 

I felt she had grown more dear. 

Then a sweet voice broke the silence. 

And the dear Lord said to me, 
" Art thou tenderer for the httle child 

Than I am tender for thee ? " 

Then straightway I knew His meaning, 

So full of compassion and love, 
And my faith came back to its Refuge 

Like the glad returning dove. 

For I thought, when the Master-Builder 
Comes down His temple to view. 

To see what rents must be mended 
And what must be builded anew : 

Perhaps as He looks o'er the building 
He will bring my work to the light. 

And seeing the marring and bungling, 
And how far it all is from right. 



to THE VOICE IN THE TWILIGHT. 

He will feel as I felt for my darling, 
And will say, as I said for her, 

" Dear child ! She wanted to help me. 
And love for me was the spur. 

** And, for the true love that is in it, 
The work shall seem perfect as mine. 

And because it was willing service, 
I will crown it with plaudit divine." 

And there in the deepening twilight 
I seemed to be clasping a hand. 

And to feel a great love constraining me, 
Stronger than any command. 

Then I knew by the thrill of sweetness 
'Twas the hand of the Blessed One, 

That will tenderly guide and hold me 
Till all the labor is done. 

So my thoughts are nevermore gloomy. 

My faith no longer is dim, 
But my heart is strong and restful, 

And mine eyes are unto Him. 



"PAPA'S LITTLE GIRL." 

A CHILD all motion, fire, and grace. 
From fairy foot to floating curl, 
With winsome smile, and sunniest face. 
Was " Papa's little girl.' 



All summer, where the glowing flowers 

Their dainty banners wide unfurl. 
With laugh and song, through joyous hours. 
Went " Papa's little girl." 

But when the snow lay deep and cold. 
And all the trees were frosted pearl. 
Far out toward sunset's land of gold. 

Went " Papa's little girl." 

Mas ! the few bright, fleeting days. 

Ere awful darkness wrapped the world, 
And Azrael, shadowy angel, came 

For " Papa's little girl." 
(n) 



12 ''PAPA'S LITTLE GIRL.** 

But even when his icy breath 

Touched Hp, and cheek and sunny curl. 
The sweet, pathetic voice still said, 
" I'm Papa's little girl." 

A fearful hush, a cold despair. 

Fell through the world's gay restless whirl 
It seemed the very birds and flowers 

Missed "Papa's little girl." 

And though she walk the golden streets. 

And stand within the gates of pearl, 
Oh, will not God remember, she 

Was " Papa's little girl ? ' 

Aye, when His perfect heavenly peace 

Shall follow all the earthly whirl. 
Faith whispers glad, she will again 
Be " Papa's little girl." 



LIFE— A PROBLEM. 

A LITTLE smiling, mingled oft with tears, 
A little hoping, linked with many fears, 
A little trusting, chased by doubt and diead, 
A little light, unto much darkness wed — 
This call we Life — to breathe, to love, to die ! 
Who shall for us unfold the great, sad mystery ? 

Heaven's radiance makes rainbows through 

the tears, 
Humility's sweet flower upspringeth from the 

fears, 
The holy shield of Faith tempers in fires of 

grief, 
The seed in weeping sown, returns a golden 

sheaf — 
glorious Life in Death ! no more, no more 

to die ! 
One hath dissolved for us the deep, sweet 

mystery ! 

(13) 



" THINE EYES SHALL SEE THE KING 
IN HIS BEAUTY." 

O SWEET, prophetic words ! still ringing 
clear, 
Through all the centuries from that elder year. 
Wherever waiting hearts are hushed to hear ! 



Thine eyes shall see the King ! O wondrous 

sight ! 
Thy weary eyes, astrain through all the night. 
Watching for faintest gleam of longed-for 

light ! 

Thy sad eyes, memory-touched with "all re- 
gret ; " 

Thy di7n eyes, aching still with " life's small 
fret," 

Seeing as through a glass, most darkly yet ! 



' THE KING IN HIS BE A UT F." 



15 



Thy blind eyes, seeing even not at all, 
Yet opening quickly at the Master's call ; 
Glad, eager eyes, from which all weights shall 
fall. 

O wondrous hour of vision ! Long ago 
Hath rapt Isaiah come thy joy to know ; 
That heavenly beauty which he strove to show. 

Archangels veil their faces, while they sing, 
Before the awful splendor of their King, 
Afraid to sweep such height with ev'n angelic 
wing. 

They long to know that mystery of grace. 
Whereby the ransomed see Him face to face, 
Nor fall, nor fear to fall, from that high place. 

They know not, even they, that tenderest tie. 
By which He brings His chosen ones so nigh — 
His cross, His blood, and Calvary's bitter cry. 

Oh, saddest, sweetest bond ! And can it be 
That through His sorrow, joy shall come to 

me? 
That tkiis His glorious beauty I shall see ? 



1 6 " TI/E KING IN HIS BE A UTVr 

Oh, Joy, too deep for aught but happy tears ! 
Oh, Faith, that climbs a height beyond all 

fears ? 
Oh, Hope, that crowns and gladdens all my 

years ! 

My heart repeats the promise o'er and o'er, 
Though 'tis an " old, old story " heard before. 
Yet with each dear repeating loved the more. 

O eyes, for which such vision is in store, 
Keep ye to all things pure, forevermore, 
Till ye shall close beside Death's shadowed 
door. 

Be lighted from within, by unseen Guest, 
Send out warm rays of love to all distrest. 
And lure them by your shining into rest. 

So, in His beauty, shall ye see the King, 
And to His eyes' sweet answer steadfast cling. 
Nor fade, nor droop, o'ershadowed by His 
wing. 



THE HEAVENLY SECRET. 

I PONDER oft the wondrous things 
On Patmos' isle in vision shown — 
The trumpet voice, the seven stars, 

The lamps of fire before the throne ; 
The book which Judah's Lion loosed, 

With awful secrets, seal by seal, 
The golden vials full of wrath, 
The seven thunders' fearful peal : 

With here and there a triumph note, — 

The song of Moses and the Lamb, 
The multitude before the throne. 

With blood-washed robe and crown and 
palm ; 
And ending all, the City fair, 

Spread out like sunlight far and wide, 
With " Whosoever will, may come," 

For last sweet words sent down the tide. 
(17) 



1 8 THE HE A VENL V SE CRE T. 

But ever, 'mid these mysteries, 

Sublime, prophetic, tender, grand, 
One precicus promise fills my heart, 

And binds the book with golden band ; 
•'To him that overcometh " — this 

The sweep the benediction takes — 
If Sardis, Smyrna, Pergamos, 

Your church, or mine, no difference makes. 

One sole condition binds the gift. 

Though struggle sore behind it lie ; 
A faith, a life that overcomes — 

A warfare unto victory. 
And then, reward ! A pure white stone, 

And in the stone, a secret name, — 
A strange new name, and no two stones 

Shall bear inscription quite the same. 

For surely — thus my musing runs— 
Since 'tis no name already known. 

It cannot be some name of Christ, 
Both loved and worn by all His own 

For thus the sacred record reads, 
" No man may know it, saving he 



THE HE A VENL Y SE CRE T, j q 

Who shall receive it," — his alone 
This new and blessed name shall be. 

This is the thought that thrills me through. 

We have a secret — God and 1 1 
He keep? it now, but unto me 

He will reveal it by and by. 
And while I wait, my heart still holds 

Some fancy beautiful and fair 
Of what that glad surprise will be, 

When He His thought with me shall share* 

Perhaps some precious name by which 

He knows me in His heart of love, 
Because of special service given, 

Or special grace I've learned to prove ; 
As wrestling Jacob after prayer 

Had seal of victory on him set, 
In that new name which crowned his s<"ed. 

And clings to all God's people yet. 

And Mary with her broken box 

Of fragrance for the burial-day — 
I wonder in what heavenly name, 

Christ keeps that memory hid away ? 



20 THE HE A VENL V SECRE T, 

Or that poor lowly child of His, 

Who of her want gave all she had — 

I wonder what sweet word up there 
Translates that deed, to make her glad? 

Or it may be the precious stone, 

Like rich intaglio, given to each. 
Of Christ shall some impression hold, 

Expressing more than any speech ; 
How in some great emergent hour, 

When heart and flesh were failing fast. 
He showed us such or such a face, 

Till all the fear was overpast. 

Or once in some communion hour 

We went with Him up Tabor's steep, 
And that transfigured Face, for us 

Forevermore the stone will keep. 
And thus I muse : I know not what 

The secret is— 5^et still the same, 
His thought of me, or mine of Him, 

Will sweeter be in that new name I 



GOD'S BEST. 

I PROMISED to tell all their fortunes. 
As they gathered around me in glee— 
My half-dozen, fun-loving maidens, 
Grouped prettily under the tree. 

•*0h, will you, you dearest old Gipsey?'* 
The children all cried in a breath ; 

" Do give us all something so splendid : 
Long life, and — translation, not death." 

"Tell Helen's the last," said dear Lily, 
" For the best, you know, never comes first. 

«' Tell mine, then, at once," rippled Minnie, 
" And let us have done with the worst ! 

•' Give Josie a Count or a Baron, 
Give Emma a castle in Spain ; 
And to Lily, so thoughtful for others. 
Give gold like a torrent of rain. 



B2 cons BEST, 

" Give May a strange lamp like Aladdin's, 
And to Helen — why, give what you will ; 
For with her, 'tis according to proverb — 
* All's grist that comes to her mill.' " 

" I don't want a Baron," quoth Josie, 
"An artist is more to my mind." 

"And a castle in Spain," pouted Emma, 
" Is something that no one can find." 

"And if /had the gold," echoed Lily, 
" I might be a miser, you know ; " 

" While Aladdin's old lamp," chimed the May 
bell, 
" Might land me in far Jericho." 

" And always to be at my grinding, 

Though the grist were all of the best. 
Is something not quite to my fancy," 
Said Helen, " if truth were confessed." 

" See now," said gay Minnie, " this wonder — 
People never will like what they get ; 
And they can never get what they like either 
And so they just worry and fret." 



GOnS BEST. 



23 



A peal of the merriest laughter 
At this rang out through the trees, 

And echoing down through the wood's green 
aisle, 
Was borne away on the breeze. 

I gazed at the glowing young faces, 
In a silence half born of my fears, 

As I wondered what each would inherit 
In the veiled and far-away years. 

Then giving the word to my wishes. 
That beautiful morning in June 

I set all their life's happy poem 
To a perfect and rhythmical tune. 

Some joy that a mortal might covet 

Lay fair in the future of each ; 
While some magic should give them ths 
wisdom 

That experience only can teach. 

But my very own darling was Helen, 

And while I asked gifts for the rest, 
My heart whispered earnestly always, 
" U^ar Father, give her of Thy best. 



74 GOD'S BEST. 

No one ol earth's glorious prizes, 
But that, did she choose to possess. 

Lay clear in the range of my vision, 
Through all the struggle and stress. 

The artist's ideals of beauty. 
The poet's possession of song, 

The dreams of the sculptor embodied. 
Or the joys that to science belong. 

Whatever of grace or of glory 
Her effort might strive to attain, 

I fondly and foolishly fancied 

The struggle could not be in vain. 

And now as I noted the shadows 
That played over each eager face, 

I saw that the broad full sunlight 
Fell over my darling's place. 

Then I smiled in my heart when I saw it» 
And turning aside from the rest, 

I said, " Thus, dear Lord, would I have it- 
So ever give her Thy best." 



GOD'S BEST. 25 

\ knew not what I was asking, 

Or I surely, surely had known 
That no life has only broad sunlight, 

Save life within sight of God's throne. 

But the sweet day passed, and the night 
came, 

When He put my love to the test ; 
And somewhere up there 'mid the lilies, 

She lies hke a bud on His breast. 

And what," do you ask, " of the others — 

Lily, and May, and the rest.? " 
Ah, well, they all have their treasures, 

But none, like my Helen, God's best I 



TWO CITIES. 

ONE shines from out the sacred page, 
Aglow with solemn splendor, 
Illumed with every radiant tint 

That art divine can render. 
Built far upon the dazzling- heights 

No foot may scale unheeding. 

It flames its glor}' down the years. 

Nor sun nor temple needing. 

Kings bring their triumph into it, 

And nations saved, their glory, 
While thousand times ten thousand sing 

Its glad and wondrous story. 
They sing a joyous marriage-song. 

For lo ! this city golden 
Is like a bride with jewels girt. 

With kingly love enfolden. 

The King of kings her brow doth crown 
With love's most royal crowning ; 

(26) 



TIVO CITIES. 27 

His gracious welcome to the feast 
The seraphs' praises drowning. 

O far bright city of my dream ! 
In all thy m.arriage splendcr. 

With passion yearns my longing heart 
Thy glowing gates to enter. 

How shall I win the welcome sweet ? 

How gain the wedding whiteness ? 
O guarded gates, where is the key 

Unlocking all your brightness ? 
Peace, pleading heart ! " an angel saith ; 

Wait not at yon far portal — 
This city is but type of that 

Which is to be immortal. 

Behold upon the land and sea. 

In every tribe and nation, 
Glad, busy hands are fashioning 

The stones for its foundation. 
One buikleth here, another there. 

Each bringeth precious treasure : 
Some bear the load, some place the stones. 

Each workincr in his measure. 



28 TWO CITIES. 

Tims is the City walled about 

With wall of clearest jasper. 
While precious jewels, set in gold, 

Like crowns of light enclasp her. 
This is the pure and perfect Bride 

The King most fitly seeketh — 
A Church all glorious within, 

Whose heart her love bespeaketh. 

And this the King's most gracious will I 

All to the feast are bidden 
Who toward this glory bear a part, 

However small or hidden. 
Go, asking heart, take then thy place. 

And wait the heavenly morning ; 
Bring gift of silver or of gold. 

This glorious Bride adorning. 

Or bring but myrrh or precious spice. 

Or fringe upon her border, 
Or even one bright glowing thread, 

Her raiment to embroider. 
So shalt thou hear the Bridegroom's call. 

So in His thought be hoklen. 
When He His Church shall wed — the true 
*' Jerusalem the Golden ! " 



HIS NAME. 
^' ■"VT'AMES name thee not ! " How manj 

.1-1 years have died 

Since first Bettina wrote the glowing words 
For Goethe's careless, unresponsive heart. 
How long ago they dropped into the soil 
Of my own childish, scarcely wakened thought. 
The book — "Bettina's Letters" — passed and 

perished 
Out of sight and mind, and left but this 
One fairest seed, within its living cell 
To grow up pulse by pulse, each graver year, 
From good to better use, from height to height. 

First, to the dearest friend my happy days 
Of school-life knew, I said with fervent voice, 
" 'Names name thee not,' nor tell of all thou 

art 
To me." Strange name she bore, which suited 

well 
The subtle charm she wove about my heart. 

(»9) 



^o HIS NAME. 

Named Amuletta, like an amulet, indeed. 

She hung her love, her very self, about 

My love and life. And school-girl-wise, we 

had 
Pet names, which sought the depths and heights 

for such 
Sweet word as gave our love expression meet ; 
Yet oft, when all was done, I looked into 
The eyes of Heaven's own blue, which, years 

agone, 
Were closed on earth, and said, " Names name 

thee not." 

But tides of time ebbed on and flowed again. 
And school-days passed, and Amuletta went 
Away to Heaven, and came a day when once 
Again, 1 looked with stronger, higher love, 
In eyes whose sweetest light shone but for me, 
And said — with dearest names thrown in be- 
tween — 
" ' Names name thee not,' nor tell of all thou 

art 
To me." And this seemed love s last, periect 
word. 



HIS NAME. 31 

So rose and fell the year's swift stream again. 

And as it ran, the perfect words revealed 

Perpetually, a new and higher thought ; 

Each year they grew in sacredness and depth. 

As love, in highest and divinest mould. 

Took firmer, deeper place within my soul, 

Until at last, I said them soft and low. 

In reverent hush, in " silent chapel of 

My heart " — I said them under breath, and in 

My prayers, to One alone, and evermore 

I keep them close and pure and holy unto 

Him. 
Names name Him not to me. No name can 

reach 
The height and depth, the length and breadth, 

of that 
Most wondrous Love, unspeakable, that lives 
In Him, the Father's perfect Word to man. 

Yet hath He many names, most tender and 
Most sweet, His fingers dropped, like flowers 

down 
The path of Holy Writ, with fragrant breath 
Pervading all the Church's heart and life. 



32 HIS NAME, 

Soft comfort-names, that come and go, through 

clouds 
Of weariness and gloom — the Shepherd of 
His sheep, our Burden-bearer, and our Rest. 

Low sorrow-names, that softly wander in 
And out through griefs too deep to speak — the 

Man 
Of Sorrows, One with grief acquainted well. 
Our Presence- Angel, Refuge, Saviour, Strength. 

Grand glory-names, that roll like loftiest strain 
Of song, through loftiest mood — ^Jehovah, King 
Of kings, Immanuel, Prince of Peace, 
Eternal One who sits in majesty 
Upon earth's circle, while the nations count 
But as the small dust in the balances. 

And tender household-names, that link the life 
Of every day's most common need, to life 
Beside the Throne — our Father pitiful, 
Our elder Brother, and the Friend most near. 

And sweetest names of love, that fill the soul 
In hours of holiest fellowship with Him — 



, HIS NAME. 33 

Beloved, altogether Lovely, Chief 

Among- ten thousand, Sharon's wondrous R ose, 

And that best, crowning name — our Jesiis— 

name 
That like a perfect chord, holds every name 
And tone of love, complete within itself. 

Ah, yes — most precious names — I count 
Them o'er and o'er, as miser doth his hoard 
Of costliest gems, and yet, when all is done, 
I turn again to dead Bettina's deep 
And soulful words, and say in tenderest hush, 
On bonded knee, " Names name thee not ! " 



ASLEEP. 

WITH curls in golden clusters, 
And soft, half-opened eyes, 
The baby lay as one entranced 
By some divine surprise, 

While fragrant breathed about her. 
Sweet, white, half-opened buds — 

The hands rose-clasped, the little robe 
Bound with the snowy studs. 

' O blessed sleep of childhood. 

So far from eyes of mine," 
One said. " Would God such slumber 

Might crown my head as thine ! " 

But lo ! as we drew nearer, 

Deep wonder caught the breath^ 

The couch was a burial-casket, 

And the sleep was the sleep of death ! 
(34) 



, ASLEEP. 25 

And still one said, " Blest childhood ! 

Thrice-hallowed, happy sleep ! 
O wondrous consummation. 

For which I wait and weep ! " 

There fell a voice in answer : 
" The baby sleeps, indeed ; 
" Yet wrought its baby-mission, 
P^ulfilling all its need. 

" So thou, dear heart, be patient. 
Give Christ thy griefs to keep. 
And learn that so. He giveth 
To His bcioved, sleep I *' 



IN VISION. 

ANNUNCIATION. 
A N ang-e] stood at night within the door, 
-^-^ Light from the inner glory on his face: 
A message from the King," he said, " for thou 
Art called and chosen, with the hosts to march, 
That follow him to victory or to death. 
Behold the shield of promise He hath sent : 
They shall have great reward who follow me ; 
Right royally shall they be robed and crowned, 
Nor shall they be without a wondrous sign 
Whereby shall all men know that they are 

mine.' 
Thus art thou chosen with His hosts to march, 
Arise and follow where His banner leads." 

RENUNCIATION. 

Then straight responsive to the heavenly call, 
My soul made answer in its fervent joy : 
•* I lay all down before this glorious King — 
All life's dear sanctities and sweetest hopes, 
(36) 



TM VISION. 37 

All mind, all holy places of the heart ; 
And in that heart, whatever other name 
Hath reigned supreme, I tear the leaf out here, 
And leave the page unsoiled and blank for Him. 
I keep not back one thing, nor hold one power 
Mine own. Henceforth I march by day and 

night, 
Close in the footsteps of this conquering King, 
Nor turn aside for any joy, save that 
He giveth me." 

FULFILLMENT. 

The King's great army marcheth ever on. 

For me — my strength is well-nigh spent ; 
though through 

Long days and nights of heat and cold I went 

Though close I held that glorious promise- 
shield. 

And wondered why fulfillment never came. 

And now, I lie alone — the troops pass by, 

The King himself hath deigned no look, no 
word ; 

What have 1 now, of all He promised me ? 

The roya! robe i*-^ garment rough, of pain. 



38 IN VISION. 

The wondrous sign is but a blood-stained cross, 
The crown He gave, was but a crown of thorns, 
And thus I die alone, without my King. 
My King ! Ah, there is where the cruel pain 
Hurts most, for Him I love beyond compare, 
And for one smile from that majestic face, 
I'd count all loss but gain, and march once 

more 
Through all these days and nights of heat and 

cold 
Content to die at last of but one kiss 
From that most perfect mouth upon my lips. 
• • •• • • • • 

Ah, what is this? Those tender lips touch 

mine ! 
My heart, of rapture dies, beneath that smile I 
Content, content, my whole reward is won 1 

AT LAST. 
" At last," you say ? Ah, no, not last — 'tis first, 
'Tis but beginning — this glad triumphant life 
On the celestial hills ! what time my soul 
Went up from earth, with that divinest kiss 
Close folded on my lips, that wondrous smile 



IN VISION. 39 

Far-reaching to my inmost heart of love, 
The angel stood again with message sweet — 
" The King hath said thy name before the 

throne, 
Now is the promise near and sure reward, 
Now take thy robe, thy crown, thy holy sign." 
At last ? Ah, no ; but first and evermore 
I wear this fair white linen of the saints. 
His name upon my forehead for a sign, 
My crowi\ a royal diadem of stars ! 
Yet here as there, I give my all to Him, 
My King, and in renunciation glad, 
I cast my crown, my sou', at His dear feet I 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

ALL through the day, the heavy tumult 
stirred, 
And noises loud and angry round me 
rolled ; 
A lingering thunder, muttering wrath and 
pain. 
Seemed all the happy heights in night to 
fold. 

Strive as I might, the hills of faith and hope 
Grew^ darker, higher, harder still to climb ; 

Eternity's far outlook and unfathomed deeps, 
Seemed bounded by the littleness of Time. 

Then close around me, Doubt, his blackness 
drew. 
While strong Apollyon threw his fiery 
darts — 
Alas, where was my armor, strong and true, 
That he could reach my very heart of 
hearts ! 
(40) 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 41 

With poison tong-ue was every arrow tip^ 
ped— 

" He saith " — "He saith " — "but oh He 
doeth not," 

He will not give good gifts, as He hath 
said " — 

" His promised mercy He hath clean for- 
got." 

No mother would say ' nay ' to any child 
Who lifted up such longing, pleading cry, 

And yet — He is jnore ready, doth He say ? 
Ah, no — no mother would, like Him, deny." 

Thus rained the fiery storm upon my soul, 
Each dart a blinding lance through Doubt's 
black night, 
Till stricken, bruised, and wounded nigh to 
death, 
I yielded in despair th' unequal fight. 

Then in Despair's yet blacker night than 
Doubt's, 
Left there for dead by Doubt and Hell's 
ally, 



42 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

He whom I had reviled came unto me, 
With loving touch His healing to apply. 

But there Despair and Shame 'twixt Him 
and me, 
Joined hands to keep from me that sweet- 
est balm, 
Yet o'er their height looked down His tender 
eyes, 
And held me with their deep, divinest 
calm. 

So once those eyes had turned in priestly hall. 
Past all the mocking throng to one alone ; 

So broke 7ny heart with love's sweet sad re- 
proach, 
So folded He again His strayed — His own I 



''FAULTLESS/' 

Jude, ver. 24. 

'* TpAULTLESS in His glory's presence ! 
-L All the soul within me stirred. 
All my heart reached up to heaven 
At the wonder of that word. 

* Able to present me faultless ? 

Lord, forgive my doubt," I cried ; 
" Thou didst once, to loving doubt, show 

Hands and feet and riven side. 

" Oh, for mc, build up some ladder, 

Bright with golden round on round, 
That my hope this word may compass, 
Reaching Faith's high vantage-ground I 

Praying thus, behold, my ladder, 

Reaching unto perfect day. 
Grew from out a simple story 

Dropped by some one in the way. 
(43) 



44 ''FAULTLESS." 

Once a queen — so ran the story — 
Seeking far for something new, 

Found it in a mill, where, strangely, 
Naught but rags repaid her view. 

Rags from out the very gutters, 

Rags of every shape and hue, 
While the squalid children, -picking, 

Seemed but rags from hair to shoe. 

'• What then," rang her eager question, 

" Can you do with things so vile? " 

" Mould them into perfect whiteness,". 

Said the master with a smile. 

Whiteness ? " quoth the queen, half-doubting 
" But these reddest, crimson dyes — 
Surely naught can ever whiten 
These to fitness in your eyes .'' ' 

Yes," he said, " though these are colors 

Hardest to remove of all. 
Still I have the power to make them 

Like the snowflake in its fall." 



" FAULTLESS^ 45 

Through my heart the words so simple 
Throbbed with echo in and out ; 
'• Crimson " — " scarlet " — " white as snow- 
flake "— 
Can this man ? and can God not f 

Now upon a day thereafter, 
(Thus the tale went on at will,) 

To the queen there came a present 
From the master at the mill. 

Fold on fold of fairest texture, 

Lay the paper, purest white ; 
On each sheet there gleamed the letters 

Of her name in golden light. 

" Precious lesson," wrote the master, 
" Hath my mill thus given me, 
Showing how our Christ can gather 
Vilest hearts from land or sea ; 

* In some heavenly alembic, 

Snowy white from crimson bring, 
Stamp his name on each, and bear them 
To the palace of the King." 



46 " FA UL TLESSr 

Oh, what wondrous vision wrapped me ? 

Heaven's gates seemed open wide. 
Even / stood clear and faultless. 

Close beneath the pierced side. 

Faultless in His glory's presence ! 

Faultless in that dazzling light ! 
Christ's own love, n ajestic, tender. 

Made my crimson snowy white ! 



IN THE NIGHT. 

I. 

LOW in the darkness, bleeding and crushed 
I lie in Thy sovereign hand ; 
Almost my veiy heart's beating is hushed, 
Waiting Thy dreadful command. 

Shall it be l.-fe ? Oh, can it be death ? 

Trembling in anguish, I pray, 
Take, O my God, whatsoever Thou wilt. 

But take not this one life away. 

Now, as of old, let the shadow go back 

On its beautiful dial to-night ; 
Shut Thou the portals, that swinging so wide, 

Would sweep it away from my sight. 

Surely, dear Lord, it is nothing to Thee — 
This one human life Thou canst spare ; 

And it Is so much, so much unto me — 
O give me my passionate prayer ! 

(^7) 



48 IN- THE NIGHT. 

Slowly — ah, Heaven ! the gates seem to move. 

Now hither, now thither they sway ; 
Watching, and fearing, and weeping, I lie, 

Too sick with my anguish to pray. 

Father, my Father, forgive my wild cry — 

I know not what I have said ! 
The portals stand wide, in the terrible night, 

And I am alone with my dead ! 

II. 

Ah, wonderful ! wonderful ! Here in the night 
One giveth me songs for my tears — 

One saith, "/am here in the valley with thee ; 
/ carry thy griefs and thy fears." 

Ah, wonderful ! wonderful ! Here on His 
breast, 

Like John, the beloved, I lie — 
My passionate prayer sinks sobbing, to rest^ 

'Tis Jesus, to live or to die. 

Thy sweet human life is over — 'tis well — - 
It was Jesus for thee and for me ! 

I linger below, and still it is well, 
It is Jesus for me an \ for thee ! 



A MEMORY. 

'^ rriHE same old house," you call it; 
-J- And it's fifteen years, you say, 
Since you stepped across its threshold^ 
So long you have been away. 

But those years are such a gulf, dear ; 

And a house, like a face, may change ; 
If you look at this intently, 

It will seem half-new and strange. 

The oriel-window is darkened. 

The sunny side-porch is still. 
And you miss the old-time laughter 

That once rung over the hill. 

Ah, now you ask for the voices, 
Recalling them name by name ; 
•• Where then," you say, " is Great-Heart Phil ? 
And is scapegrace Ned the same ? 
(49) 



5© A MEMORY. 

** And fair, sweet, serious Helen, 
Queen Alice, and loving May ? 
Why, baby Maud is a woman grown, 
I suppose, since I went away ? " 

Ah, me, I will tell you the story ; 

It seems so long ago 
That all this bright tide vanished 

Out of life's ebb and flow. 

And the house has stood in its silence 

So long, apart from the strife, 
Like a dim, sweet sanctuary. 

Full of an unseen life. 

It was only the year that you left us. 
Queen Alice forsook her throne ; 

Though she reigned in so many loving heaits. 
She must go at last alone. 

Then Great-Heart Phil — did you never hear 

Of the cruel watery strife ? 
He saved his friend, but the icy waves 

Closed over his own brave life. 



A MEMORY. 5, 

Then sweet-eyed, thoughtful Helen, 
Who had leaned on the manly strength. 

Though she tried to five for the others. 
Drooped and yielded at length. 

So half the voices had vanished, 
And dear, wild, thoughtless Ned 

Grew silent, and played, in a tender way. 
With Maud's little golden head. 

But the bright little head grew weary. 
The sweet voice pleaded for rest. 

And the Shepherd, hearing His lamb's low 
cry. 
Close folded her to His breast. 

Then Ned grew bitter "at Fate," he said. 
And was reckless and wild again. 

Though the sweet, old generous impulses 
lived 
Under all the terrible strain. 

And at last the glorious morning 

Rose radiant out of the night, 
And the willful, loving, penitent child 

Passed up into God's own light. 



52 A MEMORY. 

" So sad a tale," you say ; you are '* sure 
That dear little May still lives." 
Alas, but no ! she sleeps the sleep 
That God to His loved ones gives. 

* And what," you ask, " of the mother, 
So smitten with blow on blow ? " 
But I told you the house was a temple. 
And the temple all aglow. 

For a house, through such solemn chrism, 

Grows either a temple or grave ; 
And through anguish this mother whispered 
" He perfects the gifts that He gave ; 

*' And shall I be hard and rebellious 
While they in the God-light shine ? 
O, Father, 7?iy Father, I thank Thee 
That they are both mine and Thine. 

*' And what now to Thee shall I render, 
For these treasures lazd-up," she cried; 

" Tenfold I will strive to bring with me 
When I come at the eventide. 



A MEMORY. 53 

" Ten priceless souls I will bring Thee 
For my first-born's harvest home ; 
And — ten ? twice ten, for the precious child 
Who never again can roam. 

" And five and three I will bring thee, 
And two and one, I will say, 
For my darlings, Helen and Alice, -^ 

For baby Maud and my May. 

^ No hour for grief and repining. 
But each grateful hour for Thee. 
To repay Thee ? Ah, never, my Father, 
It is only Love's prompting in me." 

And so it is that at day-dawn. 

The loving service begins, 
And she sees her Philip, her Helen, 

In each dear soul that she wins. 

And if, perchance, in the noontide, 

Some prodigal prays at last, 
'Tis her wayward Ned that she kisses. 

As she did in the happy past. 



54 A MEMORY. 

And then in the shadowy twilight 

She returns in rapture, to feel 
That the temple is palpitant, glowing, 

As her darlings the silence unseal. 

What wonder her face has caught something 
Of the gladness and glory to come, 

And "grows only more rapt and joyful " 
With each step nearer her home ? 

Yes, I know it seems strange to be grateful 
For sorrow, and loss upon loss ; 

Yet 'tis true of your friend, as I tell you. 
That she makes such Crown of her Cross. 

" No longer the same," you are saying — 
Ah, no— you look through my eyes ; 
You can see now the house is a temple 
Whose spire is lost in Uie skies. 



ALONE. 

ALONE in the room ! 
Oh, darkest mystery. 
Earth's bitter history, 
Reads like a doom. 

Alone in the room ! 

Missing the loving grace, 
Wanting the precious face 

Lost in the gloom. 

Alone in the room ! 

Drinking death's bitterness; 

Cries of our sore distress 
Piercing the tomb. 

Alone in the room ! 

Oh, when will night be done ? 

Oh, Darling, Darling, come 
Hack tD the room. 

(55) 



56 ALONE. 

Alone in the room ? 

Oh, sweetest mystery ! 

Earth's hidden history, 
Christ's in the room. 

Alone in the room ? 

Cannot His perfect grace, 
His tender pitying face. 

Lighten the gloom ? 

Oh, Hes in the room ! 

Death's bitter pang is past ; 

Victors we are at last. 
Rending the tomb. 

Alone nevermore ! 

Morning comes soon or late 5 
Oh, Darling, Darling, wait 

Close by the shore. 



PARTING. 

WHAT shall I say to thee, sweetest, 
kneeling beside thee in tears ? 
Knowing that here ends the measure of all thy 

beautiful years ; 
Feeling the death-seal of silence, between us 

henceforth from this day, 
Which, of all lovingest things that my heart 
for thee holds, shall I say ? 

Can I beg thee for dear words of parting, with 

eager and passionate breath ? 
Or lament thy so instant transition from life to 

this marble of death ? 
And if I named all thou art leaving, should it 

be indeed matter of grief. 
That thou leavest the sowing for reaping — the 

seed for the full-ripened sheaf? 
(57) 



58 PARTING. 

But what hast thou left, then, dear sleeper, of 
all that the soul counteth worth ; 

Opening thine eyes upon Heaven, as thej 
closed on the gladness of earth ? 

Thou art gone from this flower-crowned bright- 
ness, to God's glowing garden above ; 

Gone from our poor, anxious loving, to infinite 
riches of love. 

No shadow of death on thy pathway, no river 

in struggle to cross ; 
No anguish or trial of parting, no moment to 

picture a loss ; 
But in one happy instant, the angel who carries 

the golden key. 
Hath unlocked the wonderful portals, and open 

ed all Heaven to thee ! 

O mystic, unspeakable glory ! I linger and 

listen outside. 
Though I catch but in echo the faintest, the 

joy of the on-swelling tide ; 
But I know thou art there with the harpers, on 

the banks of the crystal sea, 
And knowing such things, beloved, I can say 

but one thing to thee. 



PARTING. 59 

See, I place in thy hand these lilies, like those 

that the angel brought 
For the clay of annunciation, and I have but 

this one giad thought ; 
Pressing ray kisses down on thy death-sweet 

face, I say 
From my heart of hearts, my darling, I giv 

thee joy this day I 



SUNSET. 

AT EIGHTY-SIX. 

AFAR from thee, dear friend, to-day, 
I dwell with loving thought 
On all the story of thy life, 

With joys and griefs inwrought. 

I think of all the weary way 
Thy pilgrim feet have trod — 

Of "years gone down into the past," 
Whose record is with God. 

Of all thy tender, patient trust. 

Of all thy calm, sweet faith. 
Which never asked for better oath 

Than just His own " He saith." 

Which walked alike in light or dark. 

While Jesus walked beside. 

And took the joys God offered here. 

Nor craved the joy denied. 
(Go) 



SUNSET. 6l 

So simply walking, with thy hand 

Close clasped in His each day, 
Most faithfully His covenant 

He kept with thee alvvay. 

In joy's bright day, He saved thee from 

The tempter's subtle power ; 
In sorrow's night, He hid thee deep 

Within His refuge-tower. 

Tlie many thorns thy feet have pressed, 

His own had pressed before ; 
Thy sad temptations too He knew. 

In many a conflict sore. 

And oft, when these were overcome. 

And Hope might sing again, 
He brought thee to some mountain's heigh/ 

O'erlooking all the plain ; 

Whence, glancing down, thou saw'st with jay 

The fearful path escaped, " 
And glancing up, didst catch a glimpse 

Of Eden's distant grate. 



62 SUNSET. 

And so, through all the years thou'rt come, 

Up to this peaceful shore. 
Where " only waiting " thou dost stand. 

Till Jesus go before. 

Thy pilgrim staff is bent and old. 

Thy sandals poor and worn, 
Thy garments gray and travel-stained, 

Thy red-cross banner torn. 

Yet patient wait — thy pilgrim staff 

A waving palm shall be ; 
Thy sandals gold, thy garments white, 

Thy banner victory. 

The bridgeless river just beyond. 

The pilgrim way behind. 
So rest in Beulah's pleasant land. 

With glad, untroubled mind. 

For far across the gloomy wave 

Doth heavenly music ring ; 
And gleaming Eden-lights reveal 

The City of our King. 



SUNSET. 63 

And, as in evening's sunset-glow 

An angel seems to stand, 
And holding wide the pearly gate, 

With glory floods the land : 

So, in Ihy life's sweet sunset hour 

I seem to see thee wait, 
Touched with the glory streaming through 

The softly-opened gate. 

So rest thee here, dear pilgrim, till 

The splendor brighter falls, 
And thou shalt be at home within 

The City's golden walls. 



AT THE RIVER. 

HERE, at the River, we meet then at last, 
And the meeting is gladness and pain } 
For 'tis only this hour, here on the shore, 
The next we are parted again. 

But the sad, sad years are over, thank God, 

And the parting cannot be long ; 
It is this that hushes my beating heart, 

As the waves roll up so strong. 

It is just the very old story, Paul, 

Of Israel, after the sea — 
These sorrowful years of our wandering. 

That have chastened you and me. 

Our promised land was almost in sight. 
The journey was smooth and brief. 

Yet we turned the way of the wilderness, 
Though both hearts broke with their grief. 
(64) 



A T THE RIVER. 65 

And now, we are linking that hour with this. 

And all that has gone between 
Is like a long, long loop that is made 

In the winding of a stream. 

What was, and what might be, were once so 
close. 

That a step had joined them then ; 
But we each stood out, across the strait, 

Till the wilderness began. 

Ah, well, the time is long ago. 

And the dear Lord cares for all ; 
Though bearing the scales to weigh His worlds. 

He follows the sparrow's fall. 

And so, though we walked in the wilderness. 

An angel walked with us there ; 
Our raiment upon us waxed not old, 

And a gift ever answered a prayer. 

Ever into His sovereign, loving will, 

Converged our crookedest lines, 
And the pillar of cloud, and the pillar of fire. 

Were equally guiding signs. 



56 ^4 T THE RIVER. 

And though we journeyed so widely apart. 
With eith'^r, by day or by night, 

The Covenant Angel dwelt in them both, 
And both led up to the light. 

And this sad, sweet hour, here on the shore, 
Is our Lord's last, precious gift ; 

But our hands unclasp, and the angel waits. 
And the current is strong and swift. 

And so I kiss you good-night, dear Paul, 
Here, at the River, good-night. 

The hours grow brief— we shall meet again. 
In the morning's abiding light. 



*AND THERE WAS LIGHT." 

** "T" ET in the morning," the dear voice be* 

-L-^ sought, 

When the last sad morning broke ; 
Tor with nigh in our hearts we had shut it 
out 

Till his eyes beseeching spoke. 

*' God's beautiful morning, let it in- 
Let in each blessed ray ; 
My soul cannot bear the darkness now, 
So near to the endless day. 

" Sweet glimpses I've had of the other shore, 

That made earth's sunshine dim ; 
How heavy must be earth's darkness then— 
Oh, let the morning in. 

" 'Tis God's fair herald to open the gates 

Of the glad eternal day, 
With its flaming torch flung out or? high 

To show my feet the way. 

(67) 



68 '* AND THERE WAS LIGHTr 

" And I love the flowers that softly breathe 

Their voiceless praise to Him, 
And all bright, blessed things that live — 

Oh, let the morning in." 

And the sun poured in his beautiful light, 
And the flowers their burden rare. 

And the careless birds went singing by 
In the tender April air. 

But lo ! a light from no earthly orb, 

Lay pure on the brow within. 
And before the world's fair day had died, 

God let His morning in. 

Through the crystal gate of the jeweled court 
Where the heavenly morning reigns, 

From the Fountain of Light the golden flood 
Burst o'er the glowing plains. 

And over the Temple's flashing door, 

In radiant lines of light. 
Was the King's sweet pledge to His ransomed 
ones : 

" There shall be no more night." 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

" /^UT of the depths, O God, out olw^ai 
W depths," 

A mourner saith ; 
" Even out of the awful shadows 

Of the mystery of death ! 

" Back from its dark and sternly-guarded gate, 
I come alone, 
And in the dust in utterest need and grief, 
I make my moan. 

" All life's sweet roses, rich in fragrant bloom, 
Lie heaped around ; 
I heed them not ; the only flower I loved. 
In death is bound. 

" Father, I cannot look into the face 
Of thy glad morn ; 
O take from out my bleeding heart 

This sharp, sharp thorn." 



(69) 



7o DE PROFUNDIS. 

" Into the depths, oh, child, into what depths/ 

A sweet Voice saith, 
*' Even into more awful shadows than 

The mystery of Death. 

" Into such depths, for purest love of thee 
I went alone ; 
Despised, condemned, forsaken, none were left 
To heed my moan. 

' All fragrance fills thy path — alas ! in mine 

No flower was found ; 
Thou hast one thorn — with plaited wreath of 
thorns 

Thy Lord was crowned. 

" For tenderest love of thee, my stricken child^ 
I bore the smart 
And all that fearful agony that broke 
My weary heart. 

And can it be, this dying love for thee 

Was all in vain ? 
With murmur and reproach, wilt crucify 

Thy Lord again ? 



DE PROFUNDIS. 71 

*' My child, my child, I thought thy Saviour had 
That heart of thine. 
Behold, I plead with thee — how can I give 
thee up ? 

Art thou not mine ? 

* Is not my death for thee, sufficient pledge 

That every pain, 
And every loss I send thee, is to bring 
Some greater gain ? 

' Oh, trust thy risen Lord, and now return 

Unto thy rest ; 
Go, press life's fragrant flowers, thy Father's 
gifts, 

Unto thy breast. 

" On some bright hill, in some revealing hour. 
Of Heaven's glad morn. 
Thy heart shall know the meaning deep and 
swcef, 

Of this one thorn." 



72 DE PROFUNDIS 

'' Out of the depths, dear Lord, out of these 
depths." 

The mourner saith, 
" I cry, Forgive, forgive, oh, lead me still 
Even unto death. 

* O Heavenly Pleader, give me close to clasp 

Thy pierced right hand ; 
Oh, love me still, and still work out in me 
What Thou hast planned. 

»* And though I grieve Thee oft, and many times 
Most wayward be, 
Thou knowest all things, dearest Lord, Thou 
knowest 

I love but Thee. * 



A CHRISTMAS MEMORY. 

IN Rome's old Palace of the Ouirinal, 
Where popes are made, and from which 
popes have fled, 
We walked and wondered, half one sunny day, 
All shod in softest wool, lest careless step 
Should mar the bright mosaics of the floor. 

Pendant from height to base, rich tapestries 
Made pictures on the walls, while mingled 

scenes 
Of battle, martyr, Magdalen, and saint 
In fresco, all the ceilings hid with art. 
Each spreading hall and chamber showed in 

turn 
Its wealth of gathered spoil, from sculptured 

frieze 
To pavement tesselar ; from costly gem 
To inlaid cabinet, and tables brought 
From caves of malachite, or wrought with skill 
In workshop of the Florentine, or rich 
With priceL^ss stones antique, of varied hue, 

(73) 



74 A CHRISTMAS MEMORY. 

While rarest flowering-forth of fair ideal 
From sculptor's brain in marble or in bronze, 
Decked all the place, each one a poor man's 
wealth. 

Thus viewing all, we questioned much of what 
Christ's grand old Galilean Peter, who 
For Romans holds the keys of heaven and hell. 
Would once have thought or felt, to call himself 
The lord of all this regal pomp, or find 
Himself at ease within these storied walls. 
We pictured /ihn, upon that royal chair 
They called a throne — then smiled at such 

grotesque, 
Incongruous fancy, linked with him who kept 
His humble trade of fisherman intact, 
And drew his fisher's net, at last, to shore 
With priceless souls, its burden, for his Lord. 

At last, 'mid all the splendor of the place. 
One sweet white thought came like a snowy 

dove, 
And nestling, made that sunny day its own. 
At last the Christ Himself had one small space 
Within the royal home of His self-styled 



A CHRISTMAS MEMORY. 7^ 

Vicegerent. Looking upward where we stood, 
Not great except in thought, nor finely wrought, 
Yet filling all our hearts with beautiful intent, 
One soft, fair fresco crowned the stately room. 

Down from Judean hills, and far across 
Arabia's desert sands, from Chebar's banks, 
From temple -porch, from Bethel's prophet- 
school. 
And forth from Babylon's great palace-gate, 
Captive or free, the grand procession came, 
"The goodly fellowship" of Israel's seers, 
Sweeping in triumph-march across the plain. 
First he, the poet-prophet with his harp 
Attuned to loftier praise and nobler psalm 
Than e'er of old had lived and thrilled through 

all 
The choral music of the temple rites ; 
Then that rapt seraph-heart, which beat and 

burned 
Within Isaiah's bosom, flamed in joy 
Into the heavenly face upturned to God. « 

Fast following on the steps of Judah's bard , 
Next he whose sad lament o'er Zion's f.ill^ 



y6 A CHRISTMAS MEMORY. 

Once swept his page with mournful ininoi 

chord, 
Now wept for joy, at gladder prophecies 
Fulfilled ; while one, who wondrous visions 

saw 
Upon the river's banks in Chaldean lands. 
Now seemed as lifted up himself, on that 
Same chariot of fire-enfolded wheel 
With flaming eyes, and winged cherubim, 
He saw from out the whirlwind as it passed ; 
And He who told Belshazzar's doom, and saw 
The mighty images of kingdoms yet 
Unborn, fall crumbling at the touch of that 
Great stone, from out the mountain cut, he too, 
With all the gathering throng within the train 
Took up one joyous song of raptured praise — 
•* To us a Child is born, a Son is given — 
The Wonderful, the Counsellor — behold 
Our Prince of Peace" — and as we gazed, we 

seemed 
Again to hear the hallelujah swell 
As from orchestral harmonies, poured forth 
In music palpitant — " Thou Wonderful ! 
Thou Counsellor ! Thou mighty Prince of 

Peace ! 



A CHRIS TMA S MEMOR Y. y ; 

The King of kings, the Lord of lords ! 
Forever and forever Thou shall reign ! " 
And listening thus, u^e looked again, and lo ! 
A little Child led all the wondrous host ! 

Then went we forth into the shining day 
From Rome's old palace of the Quirinal. 
And still in memory's picture of that hour. 
We see but Bethlehem's Child, and hear again 
" The Hallelujah Chorus," where He leads 
The whole grand saintly host of His redeemed ' 



REWARD. 

ALL joyously down through the golden 
field 
The reapers had come with a shout ; 
They had cheered each other with word and 
song, 
As their sickles flashed in and out. 

And tenderly now fell the day asleep, 

As they heard the Master call 
Through the starlit silence, " Enter ye in, 

My reward is waiting for all." 

The palace shone out on the happy night 

With its windows all aflame. 
Its radiant portals swinging wide, 

With welcome for all who came. 

With bannered sheaves, with the trumpet 
voice. 
With the marching of eager feet. 
The train swept in through the golden gates, 
And up to the royal seat. 
(73) 



liE WARD. 79 

But lo, far off in the harvest-field, 

Weaiy and sad and so late, 
With a single sheaf, there lingered one 

Still striving to reach the gate. 

He had caught the echo of that sweet call 
That fell through the holy night ; 

He had seen the throng from the darkened 
field. 
Sweep into the palace-light. 

And a cry went up from his sorrowful soul, 
" O Master, tarry for me ; 
Oh, shut not the gates whence the glory 
streams. 
My weary heart breaketh for thee." 

At last to the banqueting hall he came. 

So ragged, and old, and worn, 
His only treasure, the one briglit sheaf, 

On his poor, bent shoulders borne. 

Then the face of the King was tender and 
grave. 



8o REWARD. 

As of one who was hiding a tear, 
As he gently questioned, "What wouldest 
thou, 
And what dost thou bring me here ? " 

Most eager and loving the answer that 

came — 
" I had gone with the reapers at morn, 
With longing to bring thee such glorious 
sheaves 
As might even thy palace adorn. 

'* But scarcely one hour I wrought with the 
rest, 
Ere I fell by the wayside alone ; 
With a fevered brow and a pain -racked 
frame 
I lay till the morning was done. 

"Sweet children passed with their sickles 
small — 
They would reap for the King, they said — 
I showed them whither the reapers had 
gone. 
And blessed them as on they sped. 



REWARD. 8 1 

" But when in the noontide's sultry hour 

The fever and pain were done, 
The rust, alas, my sickle had spoiled. 
And the strength of my youth was gone. 

• Far off I could see the victorious ones 

With the flash of their blades so keen ; 
But no words could reach them, and there 
alone, 
I knew I could only glean. 

' The few bright stalks they had left in their 
haste, 
I gathered in weakness for thee ; 
And this poor, bare entrance within thy 
gates 
Is all that is left for me." 

Then the King rose up from his thronecl 

seat, 
With a face most sweet to see ; 
They also serve, who suffer," he said, 
" Their reward is still with me. 



82 REWAM.J^, 

"Thy sheaf may be small, but thy lore was 
great — 
I crown thee victor with this." 
And lo, in the silence, bending, he pressed 
On that brow his signet-kiss. 

And the sorrowful gleaner stood a prince, 

Transformed by that wondrous sign ; 
While a shout rang down through the palace 

hall, 
" O Love, the guerdon is thine ! " 



WHY. 

Two friends held tonverse glad, of life and 

work, 
Beside the way. Ore said, with tender smile,. 
And tone that sweet belied the caustic words, 
"But if the world should frown, or worse, should 

smile 
At your poor songs, and throw at you in scorn 
That saying of your poet best-beloved, 
Your English-Tuscan singer, singing late 
In Italy's fair Florence, toward the sea — 
Those words about the swallows and the larks 
All singing at the dawn— you know the place 
I mean— 'tis in your dear 'Aurora,' there." 

Whereat the other, smiling too, thus made 

Reply, uplifting eyes of sweetest calm : 

" Ah, yes, I know the words by heart. Full oft 

(S3) 



84 WHY 

I've said them o'er : ' Alas, near all the birds 
Will sing at dawn, and yet we do not take 
The chaffering- swallow for the holy lark.* 
She truly sung — though swallows are God'a 

birds, 
And haply have some use, or cheer some 

hearts. 
For me, my songs came not at dawn, but came 
In later hour to fill a vacant space 
When, for awhile, the lark's bright morning 

praise 
Hath ceased, and nightingales have not begun 
Their w^ondrous trills of luscious melody. 

I soar not with the holy lark, I know, 
Through Heaven's far blue, back-dropping 

from the heights, 
Divinest notes of song, but in the low 
And quiet vales, where robins and the wrens 
Soft music make, I sit and sing obscure. 
Most softly and most gently for the few 
W'ho care or need. I give to them such notes 
As God gives me, and if, one day, some heart 
Shall say to me, ' Your low song comforted, 



^v//v. 85 

Or helpc.l, or made me better, such or such 
A time, when sorrow's weig.it pressed hard 

and cold, 
Or dark discouragement o'ershadowed me, 
Or some temptation lured me from the good,' 
Why, then, God gives to me, enfolded there, 
My whole ambition's height — to simply be 
To fellow-pilgrims but the trembling chord 
Wherewith He wakes the music of His songs 
Of consolation, in their nights of need — 
So winning, too, perhaps, the love-look from 
His eyes, the noblest and most precious crown 
His children wear." 

" H/s love-look," murmured low 
The first voice, then — "Ah, that were worth 

all loss. 
And that once gained, no song of nightingale 
Or holy lark could higher reach. Sing, then, 
Dear happy bird, all songs that fill your heart. 
Content, indeed, if God's own voice take up 
Your trembling notes, and sing them glad and 

clear, 
To burdened souls, or if through Heaven's 

b ight clash 



86 IVH Y. 

Of harmonics, His ear detect the far, 
Faint thread of melody you weave for Him, 
And hear that you have sjng the part He set 
You, as He meant.' 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

OVER the cloud-wrapt mounti.ins,« 
Over the river and plain, 
From the city's heart, with its tremulous thrills 
To a sunny nest on the western hills. 
Greeting, and love, and acclaim. 

For up in a lofty turret, 
— The great watch-tower of Time — 
The century-bell swings to and fro, 
Striking the quarter soft and low, 

With a ringing, silvery chime. 

« Wedded and crowned," repeating : 
" Crowned and wedded long ; " 
xing out ! ring out ! O century-bell. 
Thou hast never a happier tale to tell, 

With thy hundred tongues of song 
(89) 



yo EPITHALAMIUM. 

Ring for the years in their passage, 
Ring for the day that has come. 
When the waving harvest of loving deeds, 
And of service given to Earth's great needs. 
Lies gathered in heart and home. 

Swift-winged Thought flies backward. 

Over the years that are fled, 
And, standing far down the aisle of Time, 
She sees the completion of Love's sweet rhyme 

In a vision of two who are wed. 

Bending her ear to listen, 

She catches— just begun — 
The wondrous strain of Life's great Psalm, 
As heart meets heart in holiest calm, 

Forevermore made one. 

Steadily down the pathway 
She follows them year by year. 
While the Winter's glory, the Summer's bliss, 
The year's sweet Vesper and Spring's dream« 
kiss, 
Glide on and disappear. 



E PITH A LA MI UM. 9 1 

Forward through storm and sunshine, 
Hasting and resting, they fare ; 
While the shadows sweep on, o'er the dial's 

plate, 
Life's noon is past, and the hour grows late, 
Or ever they are aware. 

But Memory smiles at the treasure 

Garnered within her grasp ; 
The golden grain from the tear-sown seed. 
The bursting sheaf for the up-torn weed, 

Bound with the King's own clasp. 

Wrestlings and victories and losses. 
Songs in the night-time of grief. 
Glorious gifts from the vineyard's Lord, 
Of children's voices and heart's accord, 
And the peace that passeth belief. 

Ring, then, O bell ! from thy tower. 
Our greeting of love and joy ; 
Our prayer for a blessing on these who stand 
In Love's own royalty, sweet and grand, 
A kingdom without alloy. 



92 EPITHALAMIUM. 

" Wedded and crowned," repeating, 
So ring the years away, 
Till another quarter-bell peals out. 
With glad acclaim and triumph-shout. 
The GOLDEN Wedding-Day 



FLOWER-WALLS. 



A TRUE INCICENT. 



** X^^I^LING little g-irly, 
-L- ^ Won't she try to stand ? 

Won't she, just one minute, 
Let go mamma's hand ? 



* Just the tips of fingers then — 
Now ! now siajtd alone ! " 
Naught could tempt the fairy 
Into feats unknown. 

Out here in the garden, 

('Twas the midst of June)— 

Down we stood the baby 
In this bed of bloom. 

Right amid the flowers, 

They as tall as she, 
Stood the child delighted, 

Clapped her hands in glee, 
(93) 



94 



FLOWER- WALLS. 

She thought, of course, the flowers 

Were like mother's hand- 
Strong to catch and hold her, 
So she dared to stand. 

Sense of sure protection 

Like a body-guard, 
Gave the flowers bright and tall. 

Keeping watch and ward. 

Ah, sweet little maiden, 

Faith is stick a power, 
Though it only " make believe * 

Hold thee by a flower. 

And I thought, like baby. 

We of older years 
Often lean on flowery walls. 

Letting go our fears. 

Fears that sometimes blind us 

To our noblest powers, 
Till God gently sets us down 

In some bed of flowers. 



MY PICTURE 

FROM the mountains, melt the mists 
Darkness veils the valleys deep, 
Where the waveless waters wind. 
Hushed in sleep. 

Far upon the holy heights. 
Whence the melting mists have rolled 
Throws the radiant King of Light, 
Crowns of gold. 

On the lowly, shadowed shore, 
Old and quaint, yet queenly proud, 
Stands a temple in the midst 
Of mist and cloud. 

Shadows shroud its lonely base. 
Darkness dims the folded door, — 
But a raised, upreaching hand 

Finds " Heaven's blue floor.** 

^95) 



g6 MY PICTURE. 

Ah ! how like to life the scene, — 
Mountains high and valleys deep, 
Where proud we march, or sadly movCi 
And smile and weep. 

Yet when lowliest here we walk, 
Glad we find our temple-door — 
To its Maker, there within, 
Praise we pour. 

Past its portal, shrouded, dim. 
Flows the River, peaceful, pure, 
Whose sweet waters every ill and 
Woe can cure. 

Like to Ufe the mountain too. 
Mist and cloud, around its base. 
On its top is shining still 

The Father's face. 

So my picture talks to me, 
Teaching lessons pure and sweet. 
Guiding upward to the Throne, 
My wayward feet. 



IN THE NAME OF OUR GOD WE 
WILL SET UP OUR BANNERS. 

LIFT up on the mountains, O host of the 
Lord, 
With voice of the trumpet's acclaim, 
Lift up on the mountains our banners of light, 
And girded with strength, march on to the fight 
In our Leader's victorious name. 

Bear on to the front our banner of Praise, 

In imperial purple arrayed ; 
For "glory to God in the highest" shall ring, 
As the army's grand choral to Jesus our King, 

Till all nations His own shall be made. 

And Faith's banner, pure white, unfurl to the 
breeze, 
For she marches beside us at night ; 
She leads through the desert our faltering feet, 
And sings in the darkness, her litanies sweet, 
Of deliverance, triumph, and sight. 
(97) 



98 IN THE NAME OF UR GOD. 

Then lift up the radiant banner of Hope, 
In her symbol-color of blue ; 
^ For clasping Faith's hand, Hope smiles like the 
light. 
And with beautiful prophecies follows the night, 
Like sunrise after the dew. 

And Love in its passionate crimson, the Love 

That is greater than Hope or than Faith ; 
The glory and crown of the army below, 
The holiest strain that all Heaven can know. 
The grace that abideth in death. 

Then lift up the heart, move onward with song. 

Our victory now draweth nigh ; 
Though the enemy's legions come in like a flood, 
Our " munitions of rocks" for ages have stood, 

And God's standards are floating on high. 



HYMN. 

WRITTEN FO^X THE MEETING OF THE WOMAK'S POXBIGM 
MISSIONARY SOCIETY, HELD IN BALTIMORE, MAY 9, 1872. 

r I 1HE whole wide world for Jesus ! 
-*- Once more before we part, 
Ring out the joyful watchword 

From every grateful heart. 
The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

Be this our battle-cry, 
The lifted cross our oriflamme, 

A sign to conquer by ! 

The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

From out the Golden Gate, 
Through all Pacific's sunny isles 

To China's princely state ; 
From India's vales and mountains, 

Through Persia's land of bloom. 
To storied Palestina 

And A trie's desert gloom ; 
(99) 



TOO HYMN. 

The whole wide world for Jesus, 

Through all its fragrant zones ! 
Ring out again the watchword 

In loftiest, gladdest tones. 
The whole wide world for Jesus ! 

We'll wing the song with prayer 
And link the prayer with labor, 

Till Christ his crown shall wear. 



ONLY FOR ONE. 

THOUGHTS, thoughts, thoughts. 
Like the restless waves of the sea. 
Wild as the storm, and sad as my song 
" O Love, come back to me ! " 

Away through the angry tempest, 

Out from the rest of home. 
Following, following evermore, 

Wherever my Love doth roam. 

For the gray old year is dying 

In the night and storm and gloom, 

And I sit alone, without my Love, 
In this dim, forsaken room, 

Where strange sounds break the silence 

In the pauses of the storm, 
And tne fire burns low, and the shadows grow. 

And only my heart is warm. 

(lOl) 



I02 ONLY FOR ONE. 

For this same old year is dying, 
To that other, where'er he may be — 

This crowning year of the years of life, 
That gave my Love to me. 

But hark ! I hear awaking, 

An infant year in its glee — 
I will sing it a song that will make it smile 

And give back my Love to me. 

New year, 

Sweet year. 
Glad little child. 

Heaven-gained 

Unstained, 
Earth's undefiled. 

New year. 

Regal year. 
Mounting to thy throne, 

Here I kneel, 

To thee appeal — 
Send my wand'rer home. 



• ONLY FOR ONE. 103 

New year, 

Happy year, 
Listen to my plea. 

And ere the day 

Groweth gray 
Bring my Love to me. 

Oh, the year in majesty smileth, 
Like stars shining down on the sea ! 

Oh, the child-monarch showeth me kingliest 
grace, 
He bringeth my Love to me I 



MAYING. 

HERE'S a little song, my darling, 
Written all for thee, 
Just because a happy mem'ry 
Comes to-day to me ; 

Just because a soft, sweet picture 

Floats before my eyes, 
Which I fain would paint for thee, love, 

For to-day's surprise ; 

Just because a living poem 

Rings within my ears. 
Which I fain would set to music 

Perfect as our years. 

This, my picture and my poem, 

As in missal old, 
Writ in rare and secret letters, 

Dashed with brush of gold, 
(104) 



MA YING. 105 

Hci-e It glows and speaks before thee, 

Listen now, and see 
If the glad translation answers 

To the text for thee : 

Once two lovers went a-Maying, 

On a golden day ; 
All the future's rosy brightness 

Lit the sunny way. 

Bird and tree and lake and mountain 

Offered incense up ; 
Fair May-blossoms shook their perfume 

From each trembling cup. 

Down the rocks the silvery water 

Murmurously fell, 
As it held at heart some secret, 

Happy tah to tell. 

And these lovers, with their loving. 

Glorified each thing — 
Each took on some wondrous color. 

Painted on the wing. 



,o6 M^"^ VING. 

Oh, such vows, such looks, such kisses ! 

Every bird that flew. 
Straightway to his mate repeated 

Every word he knew. 

All the flowers smiled and nodded — 
They knew what it meant ; 

With their lover's ardent glances 
Warmly on them bent. 

E'en the monarchs of the forest 
Stirred from winter's dream, 

When a little golden circlet 
Somehow flashed between. 

Slipping to its place, was sealed there 

By a lover's kiss ! 
E'en the very lake broke, dimpling, 

Into mirth at this. 

Came the lovers home from Maying—- 

That was years ago ; 
Tell me, sweetest lover living, 

Went'st thou Maying j^/ 



MAYING. 107 



Oh, that time of dear remembrance 1 

Oh, rare-tinted day ! 
Sweetheart, come, we'll go a-Maying, 

Like that other May I 



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